


Let Me See the Whole of You

by macerrs



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1249129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macerrs/pseuds/macerrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate version of the last episode. Instead of Porthos wandering to a tavern by himself after his party, he and Aramis figure out that blindfold idea Porthos mentioned earlier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me See the Whole of You

Porthos looked deathly serious, uncharacteristically so, especially on his birthday.

“You don’t have a blindfold, Porthos.”

“I’ve got my bandana.” At this, Porthos grinned.

Aramis crooked his head, laughing. “Who’d wear this bandana?”

“That bit’s a surprise.”

Aramis smiled broadly, especially at looking upon Porthos’ pleased face. “Well, I can’t say no to that.”

So that’s how they ended up stumbling to Aramis’ quarters, halfway through Porthos’ birthday party. Porthos knew the route by heart. The warmth of Aramis’ arm over his shoulders, drawing him near, was an old comfort, but one that never felt anything but vibrant and new.

The door opened and they stepped inside. It was dark and Porthos’ eyes adjusted slowly. He could barely make out Aramis’ figure, walking carefully with his arms outstretched, feeling his way around his room, and hunting for his candle. Then Aramis lit it and light filled the room.

He turned to Porthos and gave him a soft smile. “So.”

Porthos, still standing near the doorway, laughed. He had a hearty laugh that filled the room, one that made Aramis feel like he was home no matter if he was in a ditch in the outskirts of Paris or in this very room.

He grinned, his teeth shinning bright white in his mouth as he spoke. “Aramis.”

“Porthos,” Aramis smiled back, waiting.

“I love you.” Porthos said it simply. It was a fact, one that sometimes they forgot to say to each other in the chaos of the day. But he said it now.

In a softer voice now, Aramis replied, “I love you too.” He said it like a prayer.

The candlelight cast odd shadows on Porthos’ face, half covered in light. Porthos’ eyes fixed on Aramis’ upturned mouth. “What’s funny?” he asked, in a low voice.

“You look like an angel.”

Porthos snorted, but he said tenderly, in that old way of his, “You’re drunker than usual.”

Aramis shrugged. “Perhaps. Doesn’t make the observation any less true.”

Porthos shook his head carelessly and stepped forward to fill the space between them. He kissed Aramis and pulled him in close.

“You smell terrible,” Porthos murmured, moving his head down, kissing Aramis’ cheek, neck, the skin behind his ear.

With a soft laugh, Aramis replied, “Remember that melon?”

“That fucking melon.” Aramis could feel Porthos’ smile on his neck. The sliver of his mouth, his sharp teeth grazing lightly over his pulse. Aramis felt woozy, already overwhelmed by Porthos’ touch. His beard felt rough on Aramis’ skin – it’d leave red marks in the morning.

Porthos could taste the melon’s sweetness, mingled with Aramis’ sweat. He kissed at his collarbone, sucked at the skin, tasting blood. “Sorry,” he said, gazing up at Aramis’ face.

“You’re not sorry,” Aramis said, bemused.

Porthos grinned. “I’m not, but I thought I’d try the words out.”

Aramis laughed, pulling Porthos even closer. “I appreciate the effort.”

“You always do.”

Raising his arms and resting one against Aramis’ chest, Porthos said, “Hold on, it’s fucking hot.” He began undoing his buttons, but his fingers were slick from sweat. Aramis reached out and pulled at him. “Let me help,” he said, starting from the bottom of the row of buttons. His head rested against Porthos’ chest as he muttered, “Why you insist on wearing these, I’ll never know. The number of buttons is torturous.”

“Not all of us are thinking about how quickly we have to get out of our clothes, Aramis.”

Aramis looked up. Porthos smirked back at him and noticed how Aramis’ mouth turned upwards despite itself.

“You always mock me for my efficiency, but I try to keep my time allocated for occasions that matter.”

Porthos snorted in response. But then Aramis undid the last button and Porthos shrugged off the leather coat with relief.

Aramis focused on him. His eyes rested on Porthos’ face, admiring the dimple, the scar, the curve of his mouth. “Feel better?”

Porthos gave a nod and placed a hand round Aramis’ waist, the other reaching up to rest on his cheek. He leaned in and kissed him closemouthed. After a tic, he opened his mouth, barely, but enough and kissed Aramis deeply. He could taste the alcohol in his mouth. It tasted sweeter here than from the bottle. Porthos could feel Aramis humming, the sound traveling between their mouths.

Porthos pulled back a little and kissed the seam of Aramis’ mouth, then pressed kisses along Aramis’ jaw. There was a pleasure in the coarseness of Aramis’ beard against his mouth that was unparalleled to other joys. Porthos shook his head at his sentimentality.

A few minutes of this and then Aramis pulled back slightly. “Didn’t you mention a blindfold, Porthos?” he said, trying nonchalance.

Laughing, Porthos replied. “I did.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his bandana. “This’ll do, won’t it?” he said, turning it in his hands, the fabric catching on his callused fingertips, and met Aramis’ gaze.

“It seems up to the job,” Aramis said back, reaching down to grab it out of his Porthos’ hands.

Porthos shook his head, pulling it out of Aramis’ reach.

Aramis gave him a quizzical look.

“I’m wearing it,” Porthos said, emphatically. “I said at the party _I_ would wear it.”

Aramis’ face went slack for the briefest of moments, and then rearranged itself to the blankest expression Porthos had ever seen on Aramis’ face.

Porthos leaned in and said, in a softer voice, “Tie it tight so it doesn’t come undone, Aramis.” He rested his head in the space between Aramis’ shoulder and neck, letting Aramis reach around and secure the bandana.

“Can you see?”

“Not a damn thing.” A beat, then, “Are you smiling?”

“You said you couldn’t see!” Aramis laughed.

He replied, smiling as he said, “I can’t.” Porthos leaned in, kissing Aramis before he could respond. There was an urgency in his kiss, more than before. He felt Aramis’ mouth on his own. The steadiness of his body against his felt familiar and overwhelming all at once. His tongue slowly edged round Aramis’ lips, then pressed deeply into his mouth. His hands moved to either side of Aramis’ waist, then lower, reaching for Aramis’ white undershirt. He tried to lift it off of Aramis, but Aramis stayed his hands and let out a breathy laugh.

“I’m still wearing my suspenders.”

Porthos laughed. “Of course you are.”

He could sense Aramis was about to say a joke, something clever to make Porthos come apart, but Porthos thought to himself, _Not tonight._ Pressing his mouth over Aramis’, swallowing up Aramis’ words, he moved his hands up Aramis’ body and rested them on his shoulders. He could feel Aramis, steady under his hands, as he slid the suspenders off and pulled up his undershirt, with Aramis tugging it off completely.

“Don’t you wish you could see me now, Porthos,” Aramis murmured softly.

“I can feel you, that’s enough for me,” he replied, his voice rumbling through his chest. He pushed his hips against Aramis’, letting them barely touch, feeling Aramis wanting to push in more, wanting to grind a little, but instead, Porthos pushed Aramis down to the bed. Aramis sat on the very edge, feet planted firmly to the floor, his head swimming. Porthos dropped down to his knees.

Laying back, Aramis sat with one hand flat on the bed, his legs spread apart, Porthos in between them. Aramis gazed at him, running his other hand through Porthos’ hair, and then dropped his hand down to his forehead, lightly touching the scar over Porthos’ eyes; then lightly, ever so lightly, running along his bottom lip. He let his thumb outline Porthos’ mouth, and Porthos opened his mouth a little wider, letting Aramis jut his thumb inside. Then Porthos bit.

“Jesus Christ, Porthos,” Aramis breathed. It was an exaltation, not a reprimand. He exhaled loudly, moving his hand back and dropping it flat on the bed behind him, so he was leaning back slightly.

Porthos moved forward, cupped Aramis’ face with both hands, and kissed his lips. Then he moved his hands down, lightly touching all of Aramis’ body, from his shoulders, down his arms, then moving back up his chest. He could feel the goose pimples on his skin.

“Aramis, are you watching me?” Porthos leaned in and kissed each of his ribs, one by one. He felt Aramis arch back from the touch; felt his hand in his hair, pulling at his curls harder now.

Aramis’ voice was deep, low and heavy, almost matching Porthos’ in sound. “Of course I am.”

“Are you already gone?” Porthos’ tone was light, but his heart thudded like one of the clocks in the palace. Loud and thunderous but regimented. Boom boom boom.

“I’m here,” but his grip tightened in Porthos’ hair.

Porthos dropped his head down, tracing length of Aramis with his mouth, from clavicle to hip. Aramis watched him as he did, his eyes meeting the blindfold each time, wanting to look at Porthos properly but so oddly pleased that Porthos seemed to know his body as well as his own. There was something achingly tender in that knowledge and Aramis wanted to cling to it for a moment, but then he felt Porthos fingers clumsily undo his trousers and pull them down in a rush.

Porthos kissed Aramis’ navel, then kissed down, down, down, stopping _there_.

“Still watching?” Prothos grinned and looked up, knowing, of course, that Aramis was looking straight at him.

“You’re far too confident for being blindfolded,” Aramis said slowly.

Porthos dropped his face down and kissed Aramis’ inner thigh, nuzzling the space right where Aramis was sensitive. He knew Aramis’ body and not only that, he knew what he liked. Porthos drew his hand down Aramis’ length, his finger sliding slowly up, teasing him. Then he gripped him and circled the tip with his thumb; at that motion, Aramis’ hips jutted involuntary. Porthos laughed quietly.

Aramis could see sweat on the back of Porthos’ neck and he leaned down to lick slowly at Porthos’ nape. Feeling Aramis’ mouth on his neck made Porthos moan, barely, mostly just making him open his mouth and breathe in deeply, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Aramis watched as his friend exhaled loudly and then moved down to take him in his mouth. Then Aramis was the one to gasp, more loudly than he expected. It was not only seeing Porthos licking his length, sucking and kissing, then taking him in, deeper each time. Not just feeling his worn fingertips press hard on his hips, knowing there’d be a bruise there the next morning.

No, it was seeing Porthos blindfolded, but knowing precisely what to do to Aramis to make him feel this way, like mush, like an exploding fucking melon, that made Aramis lose control more than usual. He lifted his hips up to meet Porthos’ open mouth, slow at first, then faster, til it became a rhythm bracketed by low noises and murmurs.

He saw Porthos try to untie his own trousers, but his fingers were wet and couldn’t undo them in time. Aramis watched his face, and right before Aramis came, he untied the bandana round Porthos’ eyes and watched it flutter to the ground. Porthos blinked rapidly, meeting Aramis’ gaze as he took more of him in. Both of them cursed in an odd musical arrangement, like staccato. Time moved still and fast simultaneously; their heartbeats stuttered.

Aramis came first. Sweat was glistening on his chest, pooled on his collarbone.

Porthos dropped his head on Aramis’ thigh, resting it there. It was heavy but Aramis didn’t mind. He pulled Porthos near him, giving him a slow and languid kiss. Aramis eased a hand down Porthos’ body, reaching to help, but Porthos stopped him. “I already…it happened. Already.”

Aramis crooked his head sideways, smiling. “You didn’t need me at all, Porthos?”

“Your face was enough.” Porthos said it straightforwardly, without embarrassment. Because it was the truth, at least this time round.

Aramis stayed grinning.

Porthos half-heartedly pushed him back as an empty gesture and Aramis barely moved an inch. He just continued to grin at Porthos and Porthos smiled back, both looking at each other with the most stupidly brilliant smiles, blindingly white teeth shining at each other as bright as their eyes glittered.

Finally, Porthos peeled his shirt off and sat next to Aramis on the bed’s edge, but then dropped his body back to lie down. Aramis looked at Porthos’ face, eyes wide open and mouth barely visible, but he could see his dimple and that meant Porthos was smiling. Aramis pulled his trousers back on and scooted up the bed to lie side by side with Porthos. They slept like that til the sun came up and the awful rooster outside Aramis’ quarters crowed at the crack of dawn and they woke up with two horrendous hangovers.

But that sleep – which led to sore shoulders and bruised hips – somehow also led to a melding of dreams between the two; Aramis saw an old friend performing miracles with a tiny insect, and Porthos saw a choir of birds, singing in perfect harmony.

Some other night, when they had drunk too much together, Aramis had explained it to Porthos.

“God is in you, Porthos,” which Porthos snorted at, but Aramis continued undeterred, as was his way, “And God is in me. And when you find a friend, just as I have in you, you share that God with each other. Even in your dreams.”

And so it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Katy B's "Blue Eyes"


End file.
